“No, no,” Thomasin smiled. “It is very early still. Let me tread with caution and see how it goes.”
“Caution,” tutted Lady Mary. “You young people think you’ve got all the time in the world, then in the blink of an eye, you’re married with five children.”
“Not yet, not yet,” Thomasin protested. “No, not yet.”
SIXTEEN
Thomasin inhaled deeply. Smoke and candles, spices and meat. Currents of warm air enveloped the queen and her ladies as they headed down the steps and approached Westminster Hall. The corridor rang with the sound of footsteps as people from all over the palace made their way through to dinner. Darkness had not yet fallen but shadows were long in the corners, and servants were carrying long tapers, setting fire to the lanterns.
Queen Catherine had changed into a dress of deep marine blue, trimmed with white and silver. The skirts swept along the floor in a constant, rippling motion as she made her way down from her chambers. Lord Mountjoy led her by the hand and the pair seemed to glide ahead down the corridor. They had dressed her hair carefully, adding a diamond trim to the silver headdress and hood that hung behind, conscious of her need to appear as dignified as possible. The queen’s mood was solemn after her meeting earlier. No doubt she was pondering the question at the heart of the plan, the identity of the false mistress, as she swept serenely past waiting courtiers and into the hall to take her seat.
King Henry was already positioned under the embroidered canopy. He was freshly shaven, his hair neatly trimmed and hidden under a broad flat cap set with jewels, yet his face looked pensive. He rose with dignity and offered Catherine a slight bow as she approached to take her seat. Thomasin noticed Bishops Fisher and Mendoza, seated on the left, with Wolsey and Cromwell on the right, although there was no sign of the Boleyn faction yet. She guessed that her father and uncle had returned to Monk’s Place, on account of their absence. It was a quiet, routine dinner, no celebration, no masque, no feast. Thomasin sincerely hoped that it would remain that way.
As the women took their seats at the table set aside for them, Lady Howard cast her eyes along the length of the hall. Servers began to appear with dishes, while others walked about carrying ewers, filling the glasses with wine.
“My Lord is not present,” said Lady Howard, her eyebrows twitching. “Nor his family. I wonder where they are tonight.”
A steaming plate of pork in mustard and honey was placed between Thomasin and Ellen, followed by a flat tart with a pastry lattice case.
Thomasin’s mouth watered at the sight of her favourite dish, but she handed the serving spoon to Ellen so that she might take her portion first.
“Do begin,” said Lady Howard stiffly. “We don’t need to wait for the latecomers, I suppose.”
On her other side, Lady Mary took a knife to the tart. “Latecomers are latecomers. No one should have to delay their meal for them, no matter who they are.”
“Not even the king?” Lady Howard retorted.
“The king is dining already,” Lady Mary replied, nodding at the dais, where King Henry was reaching for slices of beef. “But if you are concerned for your husband, perhaps you should go and seek him out. Perhaps he has forgotten that the dinner hour is upon us.”
“If he has, I am sure it is because he is about some important business.”
Looking across, Thomasin saw that plates of food were being placed on the empty table that was usually occupied by the Boleyns. She looked again, then turned in surprise to Lady Howard, but the duchess kept her pert little face turned away.
Taking the spoon, Thomasin scooped up the tender cuts of meat before her. New plates of boiled chicken with lemons, and braised hare and leeks, were brought by the second round of servers, and soon Thomasin had lost interest in Lady Howard entirely.
“Such sweet lemons,” smiled Ellen, “bottled, I suppose, and a hint of ginger.”
Thomasin nodded, turning over the flavours on her tongue, grateful again for the fare that life at court could offer.
A group at the back were coming in late. Yet it wasn’t the Boleyn faction, as Thomasin expected; these figures were hurrying respectfully, slipping into place at the side. She recognised Henry Norris, followed by Cromwell’s men, Ralph Sadler, Nico and a few other young men, in haste, as if they had come from some serious matter. Nico caught her eye and flashed a smile, but the only seat left was one with his back to the hall.
“Still no sign of the Boleyns,” whispered Ellen. “It is most unlike Anne to leave the king and queen in peace, like this.”
Thomasin looked back up to the top of the hall. Under the glittering canopy, King Henry and Queen Catherine sat side by side, in solemn enjoyment of their meal. As they watched, the king looked up and gestured to the musicians, who began to play a gentle, melodic tune.
Letting her eyes travel down towards the players, Thomasin spotted two figures seated at the bottom table, nearest the door, the place reserved for newcomers, temporary visitors, and those of lower status. So the Astons were still here. Gilbert and Ursula sat side by side, eating stiffly and watching the hall with wide eyes.
“Those are the illegitimate cousins,” Thomasin whispered to Ellen, “down at the end.”
Ellen followed her gaze. “Goodness, they are a matching pair!”
“Twins, I believe.”
“They don’t seem very happy.”
“Uncle approached them and offered them a welcome, but he, Gilbert, said the only assistance they needed was that of the king.”
“Did they? How very brave of them. Perhaps they are regretting it now. It’s not quite a tavern here, as they are used to.”
